


That’s what he said

by gutterandthestars



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Dick Jokes, First Kiss, Humor, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-15 04:13:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16055330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gutterandthestars/pseuds/gutterandthestars
Summary: John likes innuendo. At this point, it’s also entirely reflexive. He tried to give it up for Lent once but… you know.It was really hard.





	That’s what he said

John likes innuendo. At this point, it’s also entirely reflexive. He tried to give it up for Lent once but… you know.

It was really hard.

So it’s his default setting, right alongside being a dick about things he cares about. It’s fun. Harmless. And one of the best things about innuendo is that it makes Rodney roll his eyes and despair of John’s intellect, maturity and character - which brings it right back into the realm of being a dick, killing two birds with one stone. It’s a winning tactic all round and John’s all about the tactics.

It’s pretty entertaining too.

 

=

 

When the Daedalus arrives, bringing supplies and new personnel, Rodney’s there lugging a metric fuck-ton of chocolate, coffee and what looks like a crate of wine. It’s too much to handle in one go, even with the little trolley he’s brought along, but patience has never really been a trait McKay has cultivated and so when it all falls to the floor and bottles go rolling everywhere it’s luck - bad, if you’re Rodney, great, if you’re John - that has Lt. Cadman passing by and cheerfully helping him recover them.

“Whatcha got there Rodney? You’re planning a hot date?”

Her smirk is affectionate with a side order of pure evil and she reads out the labels as she hands him the bottles.

“Let’s see. You’ve got a Merlot” - she passes it over - “a Pinot Grigio” - another pass - "and, ooh” - holding it up to show him the label, wicked, wicked eyes sparkling - “you’ve got a Semillion".

Rodney scowls and slaps her hands away as Cadman backs off cackling and John snickers into his palm. Rodney just rolls his eyes, clutches his bottles and says “Very mature, Colonel, Lieutenant. I see the reputation of the US armed forces as staffed entirely by developmentally arrested fourteen-year-olds is safe in your oh so capable hands”.

Cadman waves off his offence with a grin and helps pack up the remainder of the bottles, no harm, no foul, no problem. The combination of wine and Lt. Laura Cadman just makes John imagine awkward dates between Rodney and Katie Brown - there’s more gossip in Atlantis than on any base John’s ever been posted to - and the thought of Rodney in his date clothes, all earnest and awkward and freshly ironed, makes him squirm. He hates to catch himself feeling pity for his best friend, but really? John’s embarrassed for him. That’s totally what that hot feeling down in his gut is.

 

=

 

Even Rodney can be persuaded to dip his toes in the waters of puerility on occasion, so when he and John are taken hostage on PX4-291 and they’ve determined that there really isn’t any way they’re getting out of the cell themselves, they entertain themselves by replacing parts of Mark Twain quotes with dick words. A happy hour passes with such gems as ‘rumours of my dick have been greatly exaggerated’, ‘the secret to getting head is getting started’ and - rule to live by, McKay - ’it’s better to keep your mouth closed and let people think you are a dick than open it and remove all doubt’. They’ve not even had time to get bored by the time Teyla and Ronon bust them out, backed up by Lorne and a handful of Marines.

Sometimes John reflects on the observation that it’s the ones who aren’t getting any who talk about it the most.And then he thinks about something else. Because isn’t _that_ the truth?

 

=

 

Innuendo doesn’t work nearly as well on Ronon.He’s sort of made from bullshit kevlar - he’s quite capable of playing along when he wants to, but most of the time John’s flippant attempts at kidding around fall flat. Once, John had made a really quite amusing play on the respective names and occupations of Drs. Vanderpump (mechanical engineering) and Wellbelove (wormhole physics) and Ronon had responded “you mean they’re fucking, right?”. Which John thought really ruined his moment.

John can never tell if this is Ronon fucking with _him_ , or if he really is that straightforward. Either way, John’s pretty sure Ronon thinks he’s weird.That said, there are so many reasons Ronon thinks people from Earth are weird that John’s propensity for deflection with poorly considered double entendre probably doesn’t even make the top fifty.

He brings this up next time he’s down in the lab, playing human light switch for McKay after losing one too many car races. John takes a lot of pride in his facility with a joystick (yeah, yeah), so he’s pretty sure he let Rodney win, except that he doesn’t want to examine his motivations for that one in any kind of detail, so he’s not thinking about it. Leading with words to the effect of “that Ronon, kinda laconic huh?’” seems like a good distraction at the time. Rodney’s obviously in a good mood because he looks at John like he’s in need of remedial intervention, but he runs with it anyway.

“Seriously, Sheppard? I’m surprised you’ve even noticed.” he says, one pokey finger aiming at John’s chest. “Communication that relies on grunts, glowering and the occasional raised eyebrow is the logical conclusion to your entire modus operandi, no wonder you and Ronon get on so well.Okay, so you’ve got the manly fighting and shooting things going on too, but if it didn’t present something of a challenge to your regrettable penchant for low humour I’m sure you’d both be getting by entirely on contorted facial expressions alone. Soon even the grunting will be superfluous.That being said, I can of course appreciate the _efficiency_ of a terse and direct approach to communication…”

John looks at him.

Rodney huffs and passes him something that looks like a cuttlefish mated with a starfish and some sort of kitchen apparatus. “I said I appreciate it, I didn’t say I intended to emulate it. Now hold this and turn it on”.

That’s just too easy, so John wiggles an eyebrow. Rodney gives him the bird with one hand and the Ancient object with the other.

This goes on for a while. Rodney has a whole box of mystery Ancient artefacts for John to fondle. Sometimes Rodney’s fingers brush against John’s when he passes him stuff, about which John almost convinces himself he’s entirely ambivalent. There’s also a good moment that John’s going to store for posterity in his little mental album of perfect Rodney snapshots, which he absolutely does not keep in any way.

It goes down like this.

Between the allergies, total lack of spatial awareness, the questionable fitness and the hypochondria, seeing Rodney frustrated by the limitations of his own body, real, imagined or exaggerated, isn’t in itself unusual. It doesn’t typically take McKay _himself_ by surprise though, since he’s normally preemptively bitching about it, so when it does and John has a front row seat, it’s kinda precious.

John is watching Rodney multi-task - eat a power bar, eye John critically as he cycles through the various modes of an Ancient device, type observations one handed into his laptop while verbally berating a minion over some error or other - only to see him take a radio call from Zelenka. John sees the moment it happens: Rodney raises one hand to toggle the channel on the radio and then visibly realises his body has failed him. While McKay’s brain is entirely capable of handling the separate input from both ears, the laptop, John’s messing about, and the protestations of the unfortunate scientist next to them, taking the radio call while continuing his rant is going to be too much. _He only has one mouth._

Rodney gapes and blinks for a bit, several concurrent trains of thought derailed, spilling down the metaphorical embankment and hopelessly rolling to a halt, wheels spinning. Then his eyes meet John’s and he snorts and John guffaws and they’re both in helpless giggles while Rodney’s scientist looks on in horror and Zelenka’s tiny voice chirps on the end of the radio, calling them children in Czech, no it’s _fine_ he’ll wait, heaven forbid he _interrupt_ or anything, is only _moderate_ disaster in the making...

On balance, John has a nice afternoon. He thinks about that just long enough to scare the living shit out of himself, and goes back to his quarters to bang his head against his door frame.

 

=

 

Of course McKay is still McKay.

On PX4-035 the whole team is relaxed and they’re eating the Pegasus equivalent of tacos in an open square ringed with booths. It’s a nice town and no one’s tried to shoot at them all afternoon. Ronon’s off getting more food and Teyla’s browsing stalls selling soft furnishings and John is laughing at something the nice lady mayor has said. Rodney pauses (barely) halfway through inhaling a taco to supply scathing commentary on John’s laugh, which is hardly fair and also? Kinda getting old there, buddy.

“It’s horrible isn’t it? Sounds like a goose being buggered with a foghorn" he says and that’s crass, even for McKay, but the mayor is blonde and super hot and well, that’s Rodney’s cue for whatever part of his brain is in control of manners to check out in favour of his dick. In her defence the mayor, who’s name is Elena, seems to take it in her stride.

“I am unfamiliar with that reference, Dr. McKay”, she admits, with a diplomatic smile right out of the Teyla Emmagen playbook.

John assumes she’s looking to deflect the remark and move on but _of course_ Rodney’s explaining, almost despite himself, complete with helpless and unfortunate gestures because it’d be pathologically impossible to keep those hands still, as the mayor’s eyes get wider and wider and John looks around and wishes desperately for the ground to either open up or for Teyla to arrive and Fix This Please Now. “...not that there’s anything wrong with what two consenting adults choose to…” continues Rodney, and oh god, thinks John, he’s still going “...a sort of large bird...” and it’s like that business with SG-1 and the dog analogy all over again “...I mean, to emphasise the amount of honking...” and John always assumed he’d die standing up or at least upright and firing, or perhaps in the pilot’s seat of something going really fast, or a nuclear explosion, but no he’s been wrong and he is going to die right there, sitting on the rim of a rather tasteless marble-ish fountain, holding a sagging taco while the sort-of-salsa drips down his wrist and... oh, Mayor Elena is stopping McKay mid-horror-show with a soft hand on his arm and an indulgent smirk.

“I’m familiar with the mechanics, Doctor McKay. It’s the word ‘foghorn’ to which I refer”.

Teyla arrives at this point, about three minutes too late by John’s reckoning, to commiserate about these strange foreign Lanteans and their obscure cultural touchstones. “They are a seafaring people”, she explains, cocking a knowing eyebrow, and John’s – is that? – huh. He’s actually kinda impressed.

By the time they make their way back to the gate he’s recovered enough from the paralysing shame to drawl “Smooth, McKay” and clip him around the ear.

Days like this, John doesn’t have to bother thinking about not thinking.

 

=

 

Occasional glimpses of a well hidden sense of the absurd notwithstanding, John doesn’t even try innuendo around Teyla. There are a few reasons. For one, she’s so blisteringly hot he’s not sure his system could take it without blushing. For two, Athosian parlance seems mostly to revolve around metaphor and subtle euphemism so he suspects dick jokes would piss her off, and when Teyla’s pissed off with him Nothing Is Okay. For three, next to Rodney, she’s the person he’s closest to in the entire galaxy, or really any galaxy, and he’s tentatively aware that given the opportunity she can see right through his protective aura of bullshit down to the last secret written in invisible ink on transparent glass buried at the back of his brain. Those are depths he would rather not give her excuse to stir up, lest what rises to the surface be something she decides to - god forbid - encourage him to confront. And she’s a mother. John’s pretty sure that gives her extra special mind-reading superpowers while simultaneously reducing her tolerance for baloney.

It’s after a not-really-but-almost-disaster on PX9-127 that John suspects he’s already not been careful enough.

Needless to say, the mission was supposed to be routine. Teyla had smiled and told them the town nearest the gate was famous for its four cake eggs, which John takes to be a simple slip of the tongue or a minor blip in the gate translation system right up until he finds himself fleeing his life from a bird whose head plumage can probably tickle the gutters of a house. Local farmers are in hot pursuit of their wayward livestock, yelling incoherently about sickness and breach of quarantine and words of warning that translate in John’s head to something like ‘frothing death’. So, yeah. The team circle up.

John’s reflexes are tip top, McKay has learned to get out of the way, Teyla’s fucking lethal with a P90 and Ronon’s trigger finger is reliable as always so everyone avoids being eaten or mauled by the Pegasus equivalent of Diatryma. The locals are grateful for the assist, happy to share some of the legendary cakes and it’s all going well until Rodney trips on the way back to the gate and lands in a sticky thorn bush. He’s just about managed to sit up, flail and start talking “Great, I haven’t had this jacket a month yet, oh god, Sheppard, what even is this stuff? It stinks, is this bird vomit? Shit! This stupid shrub is made of knives. Just wonderful, it’s drawn blood, can this day get any..." which is when his breath gets shallow, his throat closes up and by the time Ronon’s hauled Atlantis’ asphyxiating chief scientist through the gate and laid him on the gate room floor he’s already lost consciousness. John can only stand back and let the medics do their jobs and watch the words ‘frothing death’ flash on and off on repeat across the malfunctioning heads-up display that’s currently passing for his brain.

Teyla stays to interrogate the farmers, gets given some sort of antidote or similar panacea and eventually returns via a swift debrief with the medical team to find John in the infirmary, hovering. The hand on his arm is so gentle and the look on her face is so fucking understanding that John can’t even, and just walks right out the door.

 

=

 

Rodney gets better.

He and John play chess, race cars down remote hallways, introduce Ronon and Teyla to as many eighties movies as they can get their hands on, bicker over anything and everything and save the galaxy at least once a month on average.

John makes dick jokes and smirks a lot.

Rodney is still awkward and embarrassing and flounders when he’s within fifteen feet of a woman he thinks he has even a sliver of a chance with.

Still, somehow, Rodney manages to date successfully more often than not, and certainly more often than John, whose relationships since coming to Atlantis can be counted on the fingers of one head.

John tries not to think too hard about that, too.

 

=

 

So all in all, John gets in a lot of practice at not thinking about things he’s trying to avoid.Ironically, he was thinking very, very hard at quite short notice about the tactical advantages and disadvantages of attempting to sneak onto a Wraith hive ship they surprise during a culling so it’s totally not for his lack of trying when it all goes FUBAR.Rodney’s got this hack-a-hive programme he’s apparently been wanting - yeah, okay, not really the operative word, but still _all ready to_ \- try out given the opportunity and John really _likes_ the people on this planet, they’ve never shot at them _at all,_ and there’s _kids_ in there _,_ so Operation Fuck Up Some Wraithy Shit is a go. 

It’s all fun and games until he and Rodney get pinned down by three Wraith and a squadron of drones somewhere near the hyperdrive while Ronon and Teyla are off attempting to take the control room. Rodney’s first effort to implement O.F.U.S.W.S. had a somewhat premature and exothermic conclusion; John has been hit in three places with shrapnel.He’s now lying on the putrid, smelly floor and contemplating the ceiling while Rodney seals a sticky bulkhead and dodges stunner fire. 

There’s a rule of thumb that it takes the transmission of seventy joules of energy for a (human) enemy combatant to ‘lose interest in the battle’.Seventy joules is like standing in front of Venus Williams and asking her to serve a tennis ball directly at you, which John imagines would hurt like a motherfucker.He doesn’t seem to be able to get his brain together enough for even the simple half-mass-times-velocity-squared estimate to work out what he’s taken in the last five minutes but his interest in the battle is indeed rapidly waning.There will be bruises on the cuts on his bruises if he lives through this. That possibility is also decreasing rapidly, since he’s bleeding pretty freely now in places but he’s definitely not thinking about _that_ ‘cause that way lies crazy and anyway he’s not leaving Rodney.Rodney who is currently bent over under an organic-looking console fiddling with some cables.John can’t fault the view, but he’s also pretty sure there’s something he’s supposed to be doing.

Dammit, he should _focus_. 

 

=

 

“So” says Rodney eventually, crouching next to him and peering down with frantic blue eyes, “I’m thinking pressure bandages first, then planning.”He fixes the bandages to John best he can, bitching about the disgusting field conditions while John drifts off a little on all the pain; his focus remains elusive. When Rodney’s done he sits back on his heels, looking kinda sick.

“Well. Yes. Um. Here’s the plan” he says, wringing his hands. “We’re all good to go. So, so, I’ll go activate it out there” - he flaps his hands in the direction of the weirdly organic door behind them - “and you wait in here and Teyla and Ronon come pick you up when they’re all done, hmm?”

That’s enough to make John focus just fine. Beyond the door is unknown, unexplored and unlikely to be wraith-free.

“I don’t fucking _think_ so, McKay” he snarls.

“Yeah, see the thing is, you’re not in much shape to stop me doing anything while you’re down there, Sheppard, we’re out of time and someone with a passing familiarity of how this programme works has got to activate it - that’s me - and, what do you know, they’ve also be able to walk and, oh look, it’s me again.Forgive me for wanting to give my team the best chance possible.” His voice is bitter and in his defence he does look downright miserable about it, but that’s not making John feel any better. It’s a crappy plan.

“That is not an acceptable risk, Rodney.”

“Well, it is my turn” he says, then smiles weakly. “And, you know, if the worst happens - it’s a noble end.”

John gives him a dirty look. Not funny.

Rodney half-smiles down at him, lightning quick and slanted, and runs the back of a single knuckle down John’s cheek.“So long, John” he says, pats him on the shoulder and stands to palm the control for the door. Before John can open his mouth to give that the response it deserves, Rodney is gone.He’s fighting like hell, struggling and failing to get up - it fucking hurts - until he hears an extended exchange of fire ending in a high pitched scream and then silence.

He’s losing it, either from blood loss or despair, so he lets the dark have him and thinking for John is no longer a problem at all.

 

=

 

He wakes up in the infirmary, groggy as fuck, very much surprised he’s still breathing and apparently intact.Yep. Still alive.He has to be one lucky bastard.Surely there’s only so long one man can beat the odds. Only so long…

Oh hell, oh fuck… 

Then Ronon’s looming over him, leaning in from his seat in the plastic chair by the bed.

God knows the state of his face, because Ronon’s first words are “We got you both back, Sheppard” and “He’s fine.”

John doesn’t know what to do with that, so he just breathes, in and out, the smell of antiseptic and laundry detergent in his nose and the stiff weave of the sheets clutched between his fingers. He must still be a little out of it because Ronon’s face goes all swimmy for a bit.

Ronon waits while John gets himself together and can finally nod: okay.Ronon doesn’t break eye contact with John, but yells “Doc!” and Keller arrives with a smile and a battery of tests to run.“Can I tell him?” asks Ronon, and yes, Ronon can stay while John gets pinched and poked and little lights shone in his eyes.Keller actually doesn’t seem too worried and she’s known them all long enough to recognise she’s going to have a much more compliant patient on her hands if John has something to distract him from the screaming impulse to flee and also _finds out where the hell McKay is right the fuck now._

“Teyla’s with Torren and Kanaan” Ronon begins, “She’s fine too. Tired. Flew us all the way back here through hyperspace. She says hi.”

Teyla has never said hi in her life, John is willing to bet, but they’ll see each other later and John will pretend he doesn’t need the gentle hands on his shoulders and their foreheads touching in the Athosian salute and Teyla will see right through his bullshit and it will all be okay. 

“McKay is off somewhere being McKay.He would be here, but…”

But, as it turns out, everything is chaos and Rodney’s needed elsewhere.Ronon proceeds to fill him in on how they managed to get themselves back to Atlantis which seems to basically translate into Thank God For Teyla, not that John doesn’t do that every day of the week anyway.

The way Ronon tells it, Teyla had bent the Queen backwards almost in half, with her mind, from the the outside in or possibly the inside out.Teyla’s Wraith like abilities may freak Ronon out but it doesn’t seem to dim the awe in his voice as he describes the Wraith queen immobilised, Teyla holding her still through strength of will alone and her knife slitting the pale, pulsing throat with the strength of her hands. And then she’d taken over, locked all the doors, and flown them home, cool as can be, parked them in geosynchronous orbit and pretty much collapsed. Ronon’s blunt with his telling, but John knows what it must have cost Teyla and he’s awed too.

Having a hive in orbit around New Lantea means rescues and refugees, whoever they could wrench out alive from the Wraith cocoons.Most of them have ‘gated back home by now, but there are enough remaining who need attention and the infirmary is busy outside John’s little corner.Rodney has apparently been everywhere at once, busy freeing the victims of the Hive’s last few cullings, busy directing the teams gathering measurements and information for John to use later and hopefully blow more things up, busy making sure they can safely have a hive ship in orbit for a while without drawing further attention.Ronon - no surprise from John - wanted to incinerate it the second the last refugee got shipped into the last puddlejumper to be ferried back to the city.Woolsey’s apparently asked them to pause on that until the various considerations have been weighed more carefully. Ronon doesn’t look pleased but he’s apparently somewhat mollified by having gotten to space every single remaining Wraith from the Hive before they entered hyperspace earlier anyway.“’S what Lorne calls an ‘executive decision’” he says, and shows his teeth. He tells John that when Woolsey finally wakes up to common sense he’s going to convince McKay to send the hive into the sun or something and they can watch it burn up through specially filtered telescopes from the west pier.Ronon’s gonna make popcorn.John would actually love that, as long as it was remote controlled and he got to steer it.He’s not sure it’s actually possible, but if anyone could do it Rodney could.Hell, if they had two they could race them. 

Rodney. Who is here somewhere. Alive.

Keller’s wrapping up now, and if she’s flinched a little at the glee with which Ronon’s described sending hundreds of Wraith to frozen vacuum-y death, well, she hasn’t actually said anything.Ronon’s oblivious to her discomfort but seems to read something in John that makes him sit back.

“We good?”

John nods. Of course they are.

“You ready?”

John nods. 

Ronon stands and clicks his radio. “McKay. He’s awake.” He smirks after a few seconds and clicks off, presumably cutting Rodney off mid-sentence, and then bops John on the shoulder (ow). 

“He needs _rest_ , Ronon” scolds Keller but she’s got her mouth tucked into a smile and jerks a privacy curtain around John’s bed as they leave. Keller’s a nice doctor, thinks John, his brain still a bit fluffy. He can hear her radioing Woolsey and letting him know the base’s military commander has, yes, cheated death again and no, he’ll not be available to debrief until the morning. Yes, she’s keeping him overnight. Yes, her report will be on his desk first thing. Yes, Doctor McKay is…

…here.

John can hear the clip and scuff of hurrying boots on the infirmary floor as Rodney asks “Jennifer! Where…”

“Over there, Rodney. And you’re to go easy on him, he’s lost a lot of blood and the transfusions will only… oh, yes Mr. Woolsey, I’m prescribing a mandatory break so Dr. McKay will be unavailable for…” which is when John tunes her out.

 

=

 

Rodney ducks in, tangles himself in the curtain, gets himself disengaged and blusters to a stop next to John’s cot.He looks like he hasn’t slept in forever, stubble on his cheeks, pink around the eyes.

“Hey” he uncurls the fingers of one hand in a little wave, then seems to reconsider and shoves his hands in his pockets.He’s staring at John, though this might be also what’s John’s doing right back so fair is probably fair.

Neither of them are saying anything and it’s John that breaks the awkward silence, offence being the best defence.“I’m pissed at you, McKay” he begins, and Rodney looks even more stricken.

“I’m _sorry_ ” he says, raising his hands, “I didn’t know it would explode! If I knew it was going to explode I would have done something else, believe me, I’ve seen you die far too often and it’s really lost its novelty value. I’ve spent the last however many hours wondering if I’d made the mistake that finally succeeds in killing you. I’m sorry!” and Jesus, _that’s_ what Rodney thinks he’s getting at?

“Not that! I know that!”

“Oh. So what then?”

“ _‘So long’_ , McKay?”

Rodney frowns. “Um, hello? Pot, kettle, and so on and so forth.” and yes, okay, but _so not the point._

“I heard you scream, I thought I heard you _die,_ you asshole! What the hell?!”

“Oh. _Oh_. Um. That.” Rodney shuffles his feet a little.“Well, I worked out what I’d done wrong the first time - I really am sorry - and then there were wraith, and shooting and yes, okay, I was pretty sure I was going to die, only then they all fell to the floor - Teyla killing the queen messed with their telepathy,best we can reasonably assume - and then I, um… dropped my tablet on my foot.”He looks guilty and a little embarrassed.John can’t even. “And then I stunned them all just to be sure.It’s not my fault you chose that moment to lose consciousness, thanks a lot by the way…” he’s wide eyed still, hands hovering.“John… Look. I was pretty sure you were going to be okay. I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t know Teyla and Ronon would do everything they could to find you.I wouldn’t have let them leave you behind. I just…” Rodney winds down, he really does look exhausted and John suddenly _is_ exhausted and it’s not like they haven’t had some version or other of this fight before.It’ll totally wait for later.

“Sit down before you fall down, McKay” he sighs, “I’m fine. Really fine.”

Rodney sinks into the chair next to the bed and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Yes, yes, okay. And I am irreplaceable, so I suppose everybody should be grateful I didn’t fall on my sword after all. It would have been bad. Falling on my sword. Downright painful for me, and it would have deprived the world of a considerably sized asset as well as the talent it takes to use it.” He smiles. “And of course you’d have lost the use of my prodigious brain too.”

John blinks.

Rodney frowns and twists to look at John. “Okay, I know that one wasn’t very good but I’m trying here.”

John blinks again.

“You see it’s funny because it’s as if I’m talking about my penis” Rodney explains, unnecessarily.

John is still blinking.

Rodney panics, getting up. “Oh god, you are broken. Should I call Jennifer? Are you going to fai… pass out?”

John shakes his head - ooh, headrush, bad - and flails to grab the sleeve of Rodney’s uniform. He’s not managed to line up any actual words yet but he holds on, hard.It must be the sedative, or the blood loss or something because John’s certainly not been thinking this time _at all._

“John?” asks Rodney, as he reaches out a hand to plausibly deniably steady John’s face and then ruins it as one traitor thumb strokes itself across John’s cheekbone.

John thinks that this is what finally brings him to it.Rodney’s had to take too many risks today already.He’s let Rodney do one too many reckless things and he - John - is done.This is _his_ job.John is absolutely not done with innuendo, or being a dick about the things he cares about or - probably - avoiding shit that’s important, but he’s done avoiding _this_.

“No, don’t. I appreciate it McKay. I really…” John’s pretty wobbly still but he’s got enough about himself to yank Rodney down by the sleeve and reach up enough so he can - _fucking finally_ \- awkwardly, desperately, kiss Rodney on the mouth.

Rodney appears to be incredulous when he breaks the kiss and stares down, though he’s not letting go of John. “Oh my god, that’s what it takes? If I’d known I could woo you with poorly conceived innuendo I’d have asked Cadman for a manual years ago!” and - oh wow - enough with the _talking_ , thinks John. He re-applies himself to exploring the admittedly limited repertoire of far, far better things two men can do with their mouths while one of them is flat on their back mid-transfusion and the other has been awake for forty eight hours straight and is barely able to stand upright let alone brace himself over a hospital cot. Credit to Rodney though, he seems committed to the process. Cool, thinks John. So very cool.

 

=

 

Some time later the kissing has to stop, because John’s getting fuzzy again and, what with the tubes for the transfusion and god knows what else he’s hooked up to, not to mention the semi-public setting, there really, really isn’t much they can do anyway.

“Ow” says John, as he draws back. He’s smiling though.

“Well this sucks” says the grumpy astrophysicist beside him as he sinks into the chair next to the bed, winding his fingers through John’s, yawning.John can’t agree. Everything about this is perfect.

“Not yet, McKay” he says, leering.

Rodney rolls his eyes but the side of his mouth is twitching.

“Fantastic. I don’t have to call Jennifer after all, clearly you’re fine. And still twelve.”

“But you see my point?” asks John, squeezing their fingers together.

“Yeah” says Rodney, settling into his chair and squeezing back, “those gowns really don’t leave much to the imagination”. 

 

===

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first piece of fanfic. Ever! 
> 
> Also, credit where it’s due, I stole the wine joke from my sister.


End file.
